Chapter 1 : The Journey Back

The road to Hollowstead wound through a labyrinth of fog-draped hills, where skeletal trees reached like bony fingers into the pale gray sky. Eliza tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her car rattled over uneven asphalt. The town had been a ghost of a memory for her—a place she vowed never to return to, yet here she was, her heart weighed down by duty and something darker she couldn't quite name.

Her grandmother's death had been sudden. Too sudden. The old woman had been as fierce as she was superstitious, the type who would leave salt circles around her home and nail iron charms to the doors. Eliza's mother had long since fled the oppressive traditions of the family, and now, with her mother estranged and gone, the responsibility of settling affairs had fallen squarely on Eliza's shoulders.

The sign for Hollowstead loomed out of the fog, its letters faded and cracked. As Eliza passed it, a sudden chill prickled her skin. Her fingers twitched to turn on the heat, but the chill wasn't from the weather. It felt alive, creeping through the air as if the town itself was welcoming her back with icy hands.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the town was how little had changed. Hollowstead still bore the scars of neglect, its streets lined with crumbling buildings and shuttered shops. A few figures moved like shadows through the mist, their faces obscured by scarves or tilted hats. Some glanced at her car, their gazes lingering too long, as if recognizing her despite the years.

"Eliza Ravenswood," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. "Returning royalty."

She reached the family estate—a sprawling Victorian manor that had once been grand but now sagged with decay. The wrought-iron gates creaked as she pushed them open, the sound echoing in the eerie stillness. Vines had overtaken the stone walls, and the windows seemed to stare down at her like darkened eyes.

The air was heavier here. Each step toward the front door felt like a struggle against an unseen weight. She fumbled with the old key and pushed the door open, its hinges groaning in protest. The smell of dust and mildew greeted her like an old adversary.

Inside, the house was just as she remembered—cold, dark, and suffocating. The parlor was cluttered with antique furniture draped in white sheets, and the floorboards creaked beneath her boots. Her grandmother's favorite clock, a monstrous thing carved with snarling wolves, had stopped at 3:15.

"Charming," she whispered, her voice swallowed by the silence.

Eliza set down her bags and made her way to the study. This was the heart of the house, where her grandmother had spent countless hours poring over strange books and muttering incantations. The heavy oak desk was still littered with papers, and on top of them lay a small, leather-bound journal.

She hesitated before picking it up. The leather was cracked, the edges singed as if it had been too close to a fire. Flipping through the pages, she saw line after line of cramped handwriting, some entries written in a shaky hand.

"The Watcher is near. I hear it in the walls. It knows the bloodline is thinning."

Eliza frowned, her chest tightening. She flipped to another page.

"If Eliza ever returns, tell her to stay away from the locked room. Do not let her open it, no matter what the whispers say."

She snapped the book shut, her pulse quickening. The locked room. She remembered it well—a small door at the end of the upstairs hallway, padlocked and chained, with no explanation ever given.

As the sun set outside, the house grew colder. Shadows stretched across the walls, their shapes shifting with a subtle, unnatural rhythm. Eliza's unease deepened.

A faint sound caught her attention—a whisper. She froze, straining to hear. It was soft at first, like the rustling of leaves, but it grew louder, forming words that slithered into her ears.

"Eliza... come back..."

Her breath hitched. She spun around, but the room was empty.

She told herself it was just her imagination. Just the stress, the exhaustion. But deep down, she knew.

Hollowstead had been waiting for her. And now that she was here, it wasn't going to let her leave.

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